if you're out there in the cold
by The Pale Bride
Summary: The thought is so sudden, and so without provocation, that his hand flies to the hilt of his saber - is there another Strain, this one capable of putting thoughts in people's heads? :: Fushimi's mind tries to sabotage him. Munakata steps in to help.


**Warnings: **Suicidal ideation/intrusive thoughts.

* * *

_so if you're out there in the cold_  
_i'll cover you in moonlight _  
_if you're a stranger to your soul _  
_i'll bring you to your birthright _  
_i want the storm inside you awoken now..._  
\- Vienna Teng, _Never Look Away_

* * *

Saruhiko's probably supposed to be back at headquarters, working on paperwork for the latest Strain he was involved in apprehending, but right now the thought of being in close quarters with other people is unbearable. He feels... off, somehow, _wrong_, uncomfortable in his own skin, and he'd rather shirk his responsibilities and get an earful from Awashima later than deal with anyone trying to express _concern_.

Up on the overpass he can't hear anything over the rumble of late-afternoon traffic, so his mind fills in the details, the scratchy rhythm of wheels on concrete, when he notices an indistinct figure on a skateboard. It's probably not - it doesn't _matter_ if it's Misaki, but he still slumps heavily against the railing, staring at the cars passing beneath him long after the skater vanishes. When his PDA buzzes insistently for the third time in five minutes he reaches into his pocket and turns the damn thing off. It's been a while since Awashima had an excuse to outright accuse him of insubordination. She'll probably enjoy it.

It occurs to him, with a sort of sharp and piercing clarity, that nothing is stopping him from jumping off the overpass.

The thought is so sudden, and so without provocation, that his hand flies to the hilt of his saber - is there another Strain, this one capable of putting thoughts in people's heads? But he's alone up here, unless this hypothetical Strain can turn invisible in addition to screwing with his brain.

And it's not like he hasn't thought about it before.

Dying, killing himself - those thoughts had been frequent once, when he had been a part of _that_ clan. Life there had been so unbearable that wanting not to _live_ had become a constant ache, a whisper nagging him at every misstep. This is really no different from the countless other times he's thought _It would be better not to be here_, or _Everyone will have it easier if I leave_. He's done everything in his power to leave that part of himself behind, but really, nothing's changed.

In SCEPTER 4, just like in HOMRA, everything he does is just passing time until he takes one of those thoughts and carries through. And if HOMRA wasn't what was wrong with him, the problem has to lie with him instead of his surroundings. His father, Mikoto-san, Misaki... maybe they're all just a string of excuses for some fundamentally broken part of Fushimi Saruhiko.

At least in _that _place it was easy to slip off unnoticed. This is probably the only chance he'll get, and it has a time limit the length of Awashima's temper. But that's fine. He doesn't need much time, right? All he has to do is climb over the railing, and -

"Is something troubling you, Fushimi-kun?"

He's so caught up in his thoughts he doesn't notice he's no longer alone until Munakata speaks up. His first reaction is _anger _so strong that red aura rushes to the surface unbidden, and he's not sure whether it's Munakata or himself he wants to be consumed by the flames. If he hadn't hesitated - if Munakata hadn't interrupted - he can't decide who to be furious with first, and when his hands curl into fists his aura turns against him, flaring hot enough to burn in the places where his nails dig into his skin.

A flicker of blue at the edge of his vision is his only warning before something _pushes_ at him, with a sensation not unlike being swept up in a rushing river. But Munakata's aura only washes away his own; he remains stationary, unharmed but for his pride and the four bright spots of pain on each palm. Even without a word from Munakata, Saruhiko feels as childish and stupid as if he'd been verbally scolded.

"Just wondering how much paperwork it'd mean for you if I jumped, captain." He practically spits out the words, too angry to care about restraint - all he wants is to find an end to Munakata's seemingly limitless patience. A way to get under his skin. There has to be a point at which he'll realize, like everyone else has, that Saruhiko's just too much trouble to bother with.

When Munakata grabs his arm he feels something almost like relief; he's finally crossed the line, and now he can let out the breath he's been holding for two years as he waits for Munakata to get sick of indulging him. But instead of hurling him across the overpass or slamming him against the railing, Munakata remains still. His grip is just firm enough not to budge when Saruhiko tries to yank his arm away.

"I wouldn't let you hit the ground," Munakata says, as calm and collected as ever. He tugs gently at Saruhiko's arm, and Saruhiko lets himself be led away from the railing.

It feels an awful lot like he's lost a battle he didn't even know he was fighting.

He wants to be furious. He wants to despise Munakata for toying with him like this, for acting like he deserves understanding and compassion, and he wants Munakata to despise _him_ \- it's so much easier to hate and be hated and he knows it's nothing more than he deserves. But all that anger's left him, and there's nothing but a bone-deep exhaustion in its wake, as though he's worn himself out by feeling too much.

His glasses are smudged. When he tries to take them off his hands shake, badly, and he doesn't protest when Munakata pulls them off for him. When Munakata releases his arm, he doesn't move. He has absolutely no doubt that Munakata would catch him if he fell, even if he's not at all sure whether to be pissed or grateful or something else entirely - so there's no longer any point in trying.

"I don't -" His voice is shaking, too. He clicks his tongue, sucks in a breath, and tries again. "I don't get it, sir. Why did you...?"

The unfinished sentence hangs heavy in the silence between them as Munakata produces a handkerchief and starts to clean Saruhiko's glasses. "Why did I stop you?" he finally asks, not looking up.

The question is blunt enough to make Saruhiko flinch, and his answer sticks in his throat. "Yeah," he manages, after a couple of tries. "That."

"You are a Blue Clansman, Fushimi-kun." Munakata brushes Saruhiko's bangs aside, sets his glasses back on his face; his hand lingers for a moment against Saruhiko's temple, cool against his flushed skin and... strangely comforting, in a way Saruhiko can't quite process. "And my Clansmen are under my protection, whatever adversaries they might face."

He draws back to a more appropriate distance, and gestures to the road ahead of them. "Shall we go, then? Before Awashima-kun sees fit to send out a search party?"

The reminder of the messages he's been ignoring - and the trouble he's soon going to find himself in - jerks Saruhiko back to the present. He takes one last look at the street below, then follows Munakata back towards headquarters, shoving his feelings to the back of his mind to deal with later. Or never, if he can get away with it.

The captain's protection, huh...? "Thanks," he mutters at Munakata's back, and though Munakata doesn't respond, Saruhiko just _knows_ that he's smiling.


End file.
